


Two Places At Once

by Shampain



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: BUT I DID IT FOR THE GOLDGRAVES SHIP, F/M, FUTURE GOLDGRAVES, Gen, Goldgraves, OK IT ISN'T REALLY GOLDGRAVES YET, because of that scene with the mustard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 15:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10027826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shampain/pseuds/Shampain
Summary: There was a pause and both Percivals simply looked at each other.“That's my coat,” Percival said, suddenly, without thinking.The intruder tipped his head to the side and gave a lazy grin. “Well, it's mine now,” he said, reaching towards his wand pocket.-Ok this is just an unapologetic excuse to make that deleted scene with the mustard in the Major Crimes Department an actual moment between Percival and Tina. Sorry but not actually sorry, right.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【翻译】Two Places At Once](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11750826) by [liangdeyu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liangdeyu/pseuds/liangdeyu)



> I know I should be working on They Call it the Rising Sun, but my brain wouldn't let me continue until I spit this out instead. It's not even very good, I just had to write it and get it out of the way.  
> This is more lighthearted than the Rising Sun 'verse. I might continue this separately into some weird comedic romcom once I'm done with that story. But for now, this is all there is. Embrace the mustard scene, fam. Embrace it.

It was the worst coffee he had ever had in his life; Percival drank it anyway. It was not in his nature to complain or make a fuss. Not on being sent to Europe, nor the trip there. Not when he had been forced to bow his head and let idiots take the reins on the Grindelwald case out of respect for international relations. Not when he had had to go straight to the office the moment his foot touched back down on American soil again.

Not even when Tina – one of the bright and shining stars amongst the young aurors before she'd drawn her wand in the middle of the day, surrounded by No-Majs – showed him a briefcase full of pastries. He'd felt so embarrassed for her – Hell, even the strange redhead she had dragged to MACUSA in the first place seemed embarrassed for her and she had been trying to arrest him. The look she'd given Percival when he'd wiped that mustard from her lip told everyone that she harboured more than a strong fondness for him, and he'd felt awful; it had been an attempted act of kindness and he was afraid he'd accidentally mortified her.

But now, well, she was mortifying herself, and there was very little he could do to fix _that_. The best response, he'd figured, was to cut and run. “Tina,” he'd sighed, walking away. _Let's pretend this never happened._

Now he was sitting in his office, drinking – coffee? Perhaps at one point in its existence – and reading through the reports of the latest destroyed building. Containment was their top priority, of course, but Percival wanted to know just what the Hell was ransacking its way through New York City. There was no rhyme or reason to its actions, no clear targets. Where did it come from, and where did it whisk itself off to?

He always left his door open when he was sitting there alone, never wanting any of his people to think they weren't allowed to come and see him at any time of day. Thus, it was only the rustle of fabric that announced the President's arrival.

“Any word from the Confederation?” she asked.

He didn't bother to point out that it had only been twenty minutes since they'd sent the message out, urging the ICW to stay away for the time being; that they had it all under control. Seraphina and Percival both knew that the message would likely be disregarded. If there was one thing the ICW liked to do, it was make already complicated matters even worse.

“None yet,” he said.

Seraphina closed the door, and he knew exactly what that meant; without a word he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarette case.

She sat with a sigh and leaned forward, putting the cigarette to her lips, while he picked up his tabletop lighter and lit it for her. The heady scent of tobacco and various herbs filled the office. “You should calm down, Sera,” he said, mumbling around his own cigarette while he lit it. “It's not helping matters.”

Twin streams of smoke blew out of her nose. She perched in the chair, ankles crossed, cigarette dangling from her fingers at a delicate angle, looking for all the world like an advertisement caught in motion. “That,” she said. “Is why I'm smoking. Why are _you_ smoking?”

“To hide the fact that _you're_ smoking, and my aurors can blame it all on me,” he said.

“Always looking out for me.”

“It's my job.”

“Is that actually in the job description?”

“We added it in 1923.”

“Ah, yes.” She reached forward and tapped cigarette ash into the tray. “I don't want them coming here,” she said, meaning the ICW. “They muddle things. There is nothing worse than a gang of witches and wizards trying to fix something that isn't happening anywhere near them.”

“Do you think Grindelwald is involved?” he asked. He knew he wasn't, at least not directly – as he'd assured her, this was nothing like the magic he had encountered for the past several days in Europe. But he wanted to know her viewpoint.

She sighed out smoke. “He might have set something loose,” she said. “But if he did, he's been darting back and forth between here and there in order to do so.”

“I saw him myself, two days ago,” Percival reminded her, touching his cheek, which still bore a bit of a bruise from the fight. The hair that had practically been scalped from the side of his head had grown back with a bit of magical coaxing. “Before he tried to blow my head off.”

“I know. I'm not doubting you.”

He leaned back in his chair. Together, their eyes wandered among the glass cabinets of his office. They were all either souvenirs and vintage pieces he had picked up in his travels and during his work, or items only he had the security clearance to use. “I feel like we're missing something,” she said. He expected her to keep talking, but she didn't, instead continued to smoke, frowning, her eyes distant.

When she had smoked down to her fingertips she stubbed it out; he offered her another, but she shook her head.

“Something's coming,” she said, rising to her feet. “I can feel it. My bones are aching. I suppose that's all I wanted to tell you. That's dramatic, isn't it?”

“You have nothing to fear, Madame President.”

She half-smiled, half-grimaced at the title. “I haven't,” she admitted. “It's everyone else in America I'm worried about.”

She opened the door but paused on the threshold, glancing over her shoulder. “Where's your coat, by the way?” she asked. “The nice one I got you for your birthday.”

“Still in my luggage, I think.”

“You better not have left it in Europe,” she warned, stalking off. “Or I'm going to make you go get it.”

 

.

 

The coffee did not improve during the day. Percival wondered if someone had swapped out the coffee grounds with dirt, but was too busy with more important matters to try to solve that particular problem. As long as it kept him awake and alert for the time being, he would choke it down.

He left the office as soon as he was able, hoping for an early night; something told him he was about to get very, very busy. The offices for Law Enforcement never truly shut down; there was always a skeleton crew working, and there was always a chance of Percival getting called in for serious security breaches. The way New York was right now, he was going to get some sleep while he could.

Crossing the street, the Woolworth building tall and massive behind him, he headed for the nearest Apparation point. Normally he walked, enjoying the sights and sounds of the city, but he was exhausted and had, as Seraphina had noticed, misplaced his favourite coat. The last thing he wanted was to linger on the street and out-of-doors.

He slipped into the crowd. If there was one thing he was good at it was disappearing, even without the use of magic. However, all the stealth in the world could not prevent someone running right into him if they were distracted.

Whoever it was, they were almost as tall as he was; but, Percival noticed on getting a closer look at him, certainly not as old. Really, he was still a boy, probably fresh from a growth spurt; his shoulders hunched up as if he was trying to make himself look smaller.

It took a moment for Percival to realize this was one of the children whose pain Tina had been trying to avenge. He was holding several anti-witch pamphlets that he crumpled up out of nerves as soon as he got a good look at Percival. He'd been obliviated and wouldn't be able to make the connection between Percival and the magical world, but Percival was still a well-dressed stranger, and the boy looked like he expected to be struck for his insolence. Such a thing would not be uncommon. “I'm,” he began, looking horrified. “I'm... so sorry.”

Percival put his hand on the boy's shoulder. “Not to worry, son,” he said, consolingly, stepping around him. “No harm done.”

The boy looked at him with such a strong mixture of confusion and disappointment and hurt that Percival had a hard time shaking it off, long after he had been swallowed by the crowd.

 

.

 

He woke up when the bell on his nightstand began ringing. It and several others in the house were linked to a bell the President kept on a shelf in her office, which she only rang to summon him from home when there were serious matters to attend to.

Well, turned out he'd been right about not getting any rest for the next few days. With a groan he rolled out of bed, reaching out to ring the bell himself to let her know he was coming. At least he hadn't bothered on changing into pyjamas before collapsing; all it took was a quick charm to de-wrinkle his clothing. He was groggy, but he was certain he'd wake up more once he breathed a few lungfuls of wintry air.

Smoothing his hair back, he stepped swiftly over to his bedroom door, walking out onto the landing. There was nothing particularly strange about any of that – still, he stopped at the top of the stairs, staring down in bewilderment.

Because he was also at the _bottom_ of the stairs, foot poised on the first step, clearly about to make his way up. There was a pause and both Percivals simply looked at each other.

“That's my coat,” Percival said, suddenly, without thinking.

The intruder tipped his head to the side and gave a lazy grin. “Well, it's mine now,” he said, reaching towards his wand pocket.

A brave man would have faced his doppleganger with fire and fury; he would have leaped forward and heaved himself down the stairwell to engage in battle. But while Percival was a brave man he was also a smart man, so he immediately slammed the door shut and threw up a protection spell.

He turned on his heel and ran full pelt towards the fireplace. The first thing that needed to be done was sound the alarm. He couldn't Floo to MACUSA from his home on short notice, but he _could_ send a message through the grate to Seraphina.

The door blew to splinters behind him, as if he hadn't even bothered to put up a protection at all. “I think it's about time you stopped being two places at once,” the intruder remarked, waving his wand.

Percival turned on his heel and blocked the burst of magical force that was thrown at him, then whipped his own wand out in a sweeping arch. Wardrobe, bed, trunk, mirror, every item in the room leaped up and converged in a straight flight at the stranger.

Not bothering with delicacy, he tore the grate from the fireplace (a security measure, in case anyone unwanted tried to get in through there) and summoned up a flame. He dashed a handful of Floo powder into the fire and shoved his head in.

But right as he felt the flames on his skin, something tightened around his angle and jerked him out of the fireplace. He fell onto his back and looked at where a squirming, black tentacle was dragging him across the room, towards the exploding mass of furniture. With a snarl he slashed at it with a spell; he sliced the appendage clean through, freeing himself.

He shook it off as the remainder of the tentacle tried to climb up his leg, and scrambled to his feet.

The wardrobe was thrown aside and the fake Percival Graves strode through, looking terribly amused. “I knew you'd be impressive,” he said, fondly. Except for a cut on his forehead, he looked completely unharmed from the barrage of spellwork. Percival felt incredibly insulted.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “And don't say 'Percival Graves' just to be funny.”

The other Percival looked a bit put out; clearly, that had been his answer all along, and now he needed to find new material. “Isn't it obvious?” he said, finally. “I'm quite famous.”

Percival readied his wand. “Infamous, I think is the word,” he said.

Grindelwald – that had to be who it was – held up his hands, as if for all the world he was a shop assistant trying to calm down an angry customer. “Now,” he said. “I don't intend to kill you. There'd be no point in that. So you don't have to be so _aggressive_.”

“You stole my face,” Percival said, aggravated. “And my coat.”

“It's quite nice,” Grindelwald said, smoothing his hands over the cashmere. “I plan on keeping it. As for your face, though, I'm just borrowing it; I fully intend on giving it back once I'm done with it.”

Percival lowered his wand, doing his best to look like he was taking a step back. He wasn't; rather, he was hoping to lull Grindelwald into a moment of distraction. As long as Percival was able to cast a Patronus and send it to MACUSA, he could still get the message out.

“How long have you been me?” he asked.

“Handful of days,” Grindelwald said, “ever since I got a chunk of your hair for the polyjuice. Gathering information and working my way through crime scenes. My desires are pure, I promise. I have no intention in harming anyone, especially not your beloved aurors. Or the President, for that matter; impressive lady. Actually, I would like to help remove the problem currently plaguing your streets. Bundle it up and off I go, so to speak. What do you think?”

There was a deep disturbance in understanding that, to some, Gellert Grindelwald made a lot of sense. Percival even sympathized with his ideals, up to a point. But Percival had never been comfortable with the idea that one class of people could be better than the other; and while he wished for the wizarding community in America to live with less paranoia and fear, he was not about to risk the lives of innocent No-Majs in the pursuit of it.

“I think you sound like a salesman,” Percival said, frankly. “Too good to be true, and with a hidden cost.”

Grindelwald rolled his eyes. “Well, I still don't plan on killing you,” he said. “You'll be far too useful later, in the new world order. Actually, I'm rather flattered the President sent _you_ all the way across the Atlantic to help deal with me.”

“She just wanted me out of the office.”

“No she didn't.” Grindelwald considered him, thoughtfully, and Percival tried not to be disturbed, looking at his own face from across the room. “I think most of the women you work with quite like it when you stick around. One of them keeps getting in the way of my investigation, though, blundering across the Second Salemers when I'm trying to work. What's her name? Goldstein?”

Percival's blood ran cold. “She's not important,” he said, dismissively, using every shred of his not inconsiderable skill at lying. “She's not even an auror anymore.”

“She's far too sympathetic to muggles, for my taste.”

Percival knew that, and that was what he liked about her. Her heart had been in the right place, and he even understood her need for vengeance; but you just couldn't throw out the rule book like that. The guidelines were in place to protect all of them. If they let her go after a No-Maj, no matter the woman's abusive crimes towards her children, how were they to properly punish those of their own kind who were guilty of attacking non-wizards?

“She's sympathetic towards everyone,” Percival said, shrugging. His grip tightened, imperceptibly he hoped, on his wand. “It makes her rather useless.” _Ignore her and leave her alone_.

He wasn't going to fool himself; this was Gellert Grindelwald, after all. Percival knew his own skills, and knew he made a respectable adversary, but he wouldn't let his arrogance test the possibility of winning in a duel with a wizard who was known internationally for being dangerous. He had to put his efforts into the best chance for his people, and that was getting the message out.

“Hm,” Grindelwald mused. “Well, if she knows what's good for her, she'll stop getting involved with that Second Salemer boy-”

Percival whipped his wand to the side as Grindelwald spoke, the Patronus charm on his lips – but the next thing he knew he was flying back and slamming against the wall.

Stunned, he still managed to throw a handful of spells out in a matter of seconds, but Percival was exposed and he knew it. He tried to force Grindelwald back while he got his feet under him, once again attempting to get his head into the fireplace, and once again getting yanked out.

“Stop that!” Grindelwald shouted, exasperated. “Hold still, you damn-”

Percival supposed he should be pleased he was managing to frustrate Grindelwald, but at the moment he was too worried about the security breach. He managed to slam a spell through that effectively broke Grindelwald's Percival-shaped nose.

That ended up being his last real victory.

He'd never used seeds as a weapon; he realized that was something to look into after a shower of them rained down all around him. The moment they touched the floor they burst into bloom, and less than a minute later his bedroom was full of twisting vines; some were tendrils thinner than a hair, but most of them were thicker around than his legs. They teemed and pulsed and swarmed about, twisting around him and holding him in place more effectively than any rope, prying his wand from his hand. The worst of it, though, were the flowers; they dropped a heady, lavender-like scent and filled the air with a dreamy sort of pollen.

“They'll know something's wrong,” Percival said, trying to be threatening, but mostly sounding sleepy. “You won't be able to act as me for very long.”

Grindelwald shrugged, in the middle of un-breaking his nose and cleaning the blood from his face. “Once I get what I want, I won't need to stick around, anyway,” he said, picking up Percival's wand. “So, enjoy your new accommodations. I have full confidence that you'll manage to worm your way out of this in a few days. In the meantime, though, get some rest; you look exhausted.”

“You're a bastard,” Percival yawned, fighting to stay awake.

Grindelwald frowned, as if he was the most put-upon man in the whole world. “I know,” he said, turning on his heel. “I hear that a lot. Sweet dreams, Director. Thanks for the coat.”


End file.
